


Gradient

by Kei (strawberryjambouree)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But definitely rambling, Kind of drabble I guess, M/M, be prepared for lots and lots of volleydorks-in-love rambling, not really poetry though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryjambouree/pseuds/Kei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't realize how bad he had it until it was at its worst— or best, depending on how you looked at it.</p><p>Daichi is slowly but surely starting to understand that things like holding hands and the idea of "always" are not really things he would associate with anyone but Suga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gradient

Daichi would never know when it started.

Perhaps it was that day, after a particularly disappointing match, when Suga's shoulders set stiffly instead of his own, bearing the heavy weight of loss for him, shortly promising the others that next time would be better if they worked hard for it. That day, Daichi felt so grateful to have such a supportive person by his side— always,  _always_ by his side— that he almost let the wobbly tears finally escape from angrily crinkled eyes. Almost.

Perhaps it was that day when he was walking Suga home, and the ashen-haired boy— he was still a boy,  _they_ were still only boys then— turned to wave goodbye, and the brilliant sunset lit him from behind and stole Daichi's chilled breath in the half-second between his heartbeats. He could only stare as the desperately bright light brought out the pinks in Suga's cheeks and nose, the gold hidden deep in his hair, the fresh, raw red of emotion that suddenly hung between them as Suga briefly connected their line of sight before flushing horribly and dashing away with a strangled good-bye and slightly flailing wave. Daichi almost didn't catch Suga's blush. Almost.

Perhaps it was only yesterday which was in every way a normal day, when Suga pulled off his shirt to change into his uniform, like he had done countless times in front of Daichi— and Daichi, though not for the first time, found himself counting the moles dotting his torso, wondering what it would be like to trace over them with near-tickling brushes of his calloused fingertips. Wondering, also not for the first time, why he was wondering that. Wondering why Suga had caught his gaze and this time held for what simultaneously felt like a hundred hours and a hundred-millionth of a second, and wondering what that slow, shy smile meant. Daichi almost let it spill out of his bitten and chapped lips, right then and there. Almost.

All the reminiscing in the world wouldn't help Daichi pinpoint when exactly he had fallen in so deep that he didn't even consider trying to escape this painfully warm feeling that thudded alongside his heart whenever Suga was around- which was all the time. He couldn't tell you when he started thinking of it as something he should hide, to protect himself, to protect Suga, to protect their friendship. He didn't know when his feelings started growing thorns, started puncturing his frantic heart and filling his lungs with anything but air, started to become so unbearable and—to everyone but Daichi himself— so, so painfully obvious.

Perhaps it was the way they congratulated each other after a well-won round, slinging sweaty arms around each other's waists and shoulders, grinning like they'd won every lottery ever, and keeping those arms there for just a bit too long, just a bit too low, just a bit too intimate.

Perhaps it was what Suga started doing one day—neither, of course, could tell you which day or even which month— in their third year, on their way home from practice. He would first huddle closer to Daichi, even if it wasn't cold, and become quieter. Then his hand would find Daichi's elbow, just barely touching, then it would slide down, down, down, until his long thin fingers would curl between Daichi's much bigger ones, pressing his trembling, pale palm to Daichi's strong, tanned one. Eventually, he started skipping the first two steps. Eventually, his hand no longer shook. Eventually, he didn't limit this gesture to their walks home— whenever he had the chance, whether it be under the desk during lunch, on the sidelines as his vice-captain watching the others drill, or for just three seconds in the hallway as they silently travelled together, heading for completely different classes— and Daichi's hand began feeling cold without Suga's ressed against it. 

Perhaps it was that one time, just that once, when Suga tripped over his own feet, distracted by a certain captain's unnervingly focused gaze, and fell face-first onto the unforgiving floor, shakily dragging himself up with blood pouring from his nose. That one time when Daichi nearly went ballistic— although the others would insist that there was no "nearly" about it— and rushed Suga straight to the bathroom, letting him bleed in the dingy sink and shake and cling to Daichi with white, white knuckles. He had pinched Suga's nose with a wad of paper towels that ended up being four wads, until the horrible bleeding stopped and Ukai could confirm that his beautifully sender nose wasn't broken, although those may not have been his exact words. When he left the two boys—no, surely they were young men now— in the quiet of the clubroom to "rest," Daichi suddenly had the nagging suspicion that Ukai somehow knew about his feelings for Suga.

He wouldn't be able to tell you what happened directly after that, because it was simply wiped from his memory by what Suga did about half an hour later. Practice might have been over, and Daichi _thinks_ they were talking about something or other, but out of the blue— no, wait, maybe it wasn't— Suga leaned forward from his cross-legged seat on the rough carpet and pressed a kiss to Daichi's forehead, flushing horribly just like that day with the heart-stopping sunset. Daichi's sure his heart has ceased to function correctly once again, because before he knows it he's pressing kiss after desperate kiss to Suga's lips, which move against his and he's so far gone he can barely breath, although there may or may not be a more physical reason for that, that reason being Suga's tongue, which tastes faintly of copper.

Daichi at least remembers what happened after that, a whirlwind of feelings ripped out of collapsed chests and confessions that have them both hiccuping back tears until they can't stand holding back anymore and tell absolutely everything to each other, everything they've ever wanted to say but were held back by a twisting black fear greater than their fear of death. And they cry and cry, and meet by the lips again and again, and end simply holding each other, faces quite disgusting and blotchy but they're both the most precious things the other has ever held—

Or course, Daichi will never tell you that, it's Suga you have to ask.

But even he might not remember it too well, it's been such a long, long time since then.

However, he can and will tell you, with that proud, broad grin of his, that Daichi's palm hasn't been cold for years.

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction posted on AO3— also first fanction posted anywhere. It was very relaxing to write about these two and their simple love. I hope to be able to write lots more. Expect a shipyard full of Asanoya, Daisuga, and Kuroken.


End file.
